by Anne Stuart
“Elinor’s a fool,” Sir Richard said flatly.
“I don’t doubt it. However, since the lovely Edwina is out of our reach, we shall simply have to look elsewhere. Have you forgotten there’s yet another young lady in residence at Hernewood Manor?”
“That girl? Elinor’s niece or whatever? What in God’s name would you want with her?”
Francis breathed a weary sigh at Sir Richard’s obtuseness. Elinor wasn’t the only thick one in the family. “She’s a passably pretty, passably well-bred virgin.”
“That’ll do,” Sir Richard said grudgingly.
“It will do, indeed. Particularly when you take into account that Gabriel seems uncharacteristically taken with her.”
“I don’t believe it,” Richard scoffed. “That bastard has never cared for anyone or anything.”
“He learned from a master,” Francis murmured. “But I’m afraid he has the most peculiar weakness for Miss Penshurst, which we can use to our advantage. He’ll be so busy worrying about her, that he won’t notice when his sister disappears.”
“I thought you promised not to take Jane.”
“Whatever made you think I would keep my promises?” Francis asked with mock astonishment. “Once we have the girl secured, it should be a simple enough matter to entice Jane here as well. I’m expecting it to be quite a merry blaze.”
“You’ll kill them both?” Sir Richard was looking slightly queasy at the notion.
“The greater the gift, the greater good will come to us,” Francis intoned. “Surely you don’t object?”
“No,” Sir Richard said after a moment. “I don’t object.”
Francis smiled. “In the meantime, I think you ought to make yourself scarce. Cornwall should be quite lovely this time of year. Go enjoy yourself, and by the time you return you’ll be minus one daughter and one annoying houseguest.”
“And one son,” he added eagerly. “You promised.”
“Gabriel will be gone as well, in flame and smoke, with nothing left behind but ashes and your assured good fortune. The gods will smile on you, Richard. Haven’t I promised you’ll be rewarded?”
Sir Richard had at least enough brains to look dubious. “So you say,” he muttered. “I’ll leave at first light.”
“It is first light. Begone, Richard.”
“What about the girl? She saw me . . .”
“She saw a great deal of you, quite obviously. Don’t worry. There’s more than enough room in the cage for a pregnant woman.”
A faint shadow crossed Sir Richard’s thick face, then vanished. “I’ll be off, then.”
“Do,” Francis said sweetly.
HIS OLD MANOR was a shambles. Gabriel knew that it would be, but something made him skirt the forest and head back to the house. He needed time to think, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with ghosts popping up for a bit of conversation.
He still couldn’t get over the notion that the monks had actually appeared to Lizzie. More than that, they’d spoken to her, told her where to find him. In fact, they’d sent her into the lion’s den, and when he’d had enough sleep he’d tell them so in no uncertain terms.
Not that he expected to accomplish much by yelling at ghosts. During the past few months he’d often wondered whether they were simply a figment of his imagination. The stories about them had filled Hernewood Forest for hundreds of years, and yet no one could report a reliable encounter with them.
But if they were an illusion, then they were clearly a shared illusion, and that was just as unsettling a notion. Why would the ghosts allow Lizzie to see them? Or, conversely, why would Lizzie imagine the same phantoms he did? And how would she know their names?
He was too bone-weary to worry about it now, he only knew he didn’t want to go back to the tower and have to wonder whether Brother Septimus was looming over him, a disapproving expression on his transparent face. He was too tired to make sense of anything at the moment, including the knowledge that they’d come into the stables at exactly the wrong instant.
He took his time following the paths to Rosecliff Hall. The woods were deep and still around him, the animals still hiding from the threat of ritual slaughter. The more he thought about Francis Chilton’s twisted variation of Druidry, the more disturbed he became. Very little of what he’d seen or sensed had anything to do with the Old Religion, but more in common with devil worship. There was no bloodthirsty Celtic god who demanded the slaughter of countless animals. As far as Gabriel was concerned, there was no being, of this world or the next, who demanded such things. But Francis clearly had found a deity who required blood, and he was embracing his newfound religion with sickening enthusiasm.
At least there was a chance he’d secured Jane’s safety. Francis was, despite everything else, a gentleman. He would be unlikely to renege on gaming debts, any more than he’d cheat at cards. Gabriel could only be glad he wasn’t similarly fettered by convention. He had the unfashionable belief that right was more important than gaming debts, and he had no qualms about acting on that belief.
He could hear the noise of the workmen as he approached Rosecliff—hammers, saws, voices shouting to each other. It was a blessedly normal setting, and as he passed the workmen, they greeted him with the combination of deference and camaraderie he’d come to expect. That was one small blessing to all this. Despite his known interests in the Old Religion, so far no one ever suspected him of having anything to do with the slaughtered animals, the missing girls. No one, that is, with the possible exception of Lizzie Penshurst.
She’d like to believe the worst of him, and he was just as likely to encourage it. If she thought him a bloodthirsty demon and a lecher, then she’d keep her distance, which would make the temptation easier to resist.
Of course, he was a lecher, particularly where she was concerned. And he still hadn’t quite decided why he should resist temptation in the first place. Apart from a long-held belief in not seducing well-bred virgins, of course, and the certain knowledge that it could prove dangerous if the Chiltons realized he was at all enamored of her.
But Francis already knew. And enamored was one hell of a word, perilously close to love, when Gabriel had no intention of loving anyone.
The huge front hall smelled of sawdust and fresh pine. The broken leaded glass had been replaced, letting in the early-morning light, and sun motes and dust danced like faeries in the shaft of sun. Faeries, he thought in disgust. First ghosts, then faeries. What else will I be seeing?
It was a huge, rambling old place, far older, far grander than the tidy, soulless house that was Hernewood Manor. The workmen were busy in the east wing, repairing the holes in the roof, replacing rotten beams and missing windows, but the west wing was empty. He moved along the endless corridors, stopping by a window to look out over the woods. He could see the spires of the ruined abbey just beyond the trees, but the manor was hidden. If he put his mind to it he might be able to forget it was there, forget the past and the present.
The future was in this rambling disaster of a house. He pushed open the burl oak door that led to the bedroom he’d chosen. It wasn’t the largest or the grandest in the house, but he didn’t care. It looked out over the forest, and some of the trees had grown so near that he could open the windows and touch them. The bed was a huge medieval piece, large enough for a family, and the fireplace could roast an ox. It was still, oddly enough, a friendly room, unlike the place where he’d spent his lonely childhood. Someone had made the room habitable for him—there were fresh hangings on the bed and a plump new mattress, and there wasn’t a cobweb to be seen. He moved over to the window, pushing it open to let in the early-morning air. The rosebushes were growing up the side of the building, surrounding the casement windows, and he could see buds. In a week or so there would be fresh roses blooming at the windows.
He looked back at the bed and closed his eyes, cur
sing beneath his breath. No matter how much he tried to deny it, Lizzie was there, haunting him. He could see her, laughing, reaching out to touch the roses that would come. He could see her, small and trusting in that huge bed, waiting for him.
Except, of course, that she didn’t trust him, not for one moment. And he had never heard her laugh.
He knew that she did. He knew she had a rich, beautiful laugh, full of delight and joy in the world. She would laugh in the woods, he knew it. But she wouldn’t laugh for him.
He pushed away from the window, leaving it open to the fresh spring air. It was the end of April, tomorrow the May Day celebration would take over the county. Beltane, with its fires and its fertility. And he knew, to his regret, how Francis Chilton planned to celebrate it.
“Someone told me you were here.” Peter was standing in the door, a remote expression on his face.
“I thought it was time to check up on the progress. It’s coming along quite nicely, don’t you think?” he asked idly.
“It’s more than fit for human habitation. I’ve got a household staff lined up, ready to come in whenever you’re ready.”
“Ready to live a squire’s life?” Gabriel said with an ironic smile. “I can’t imagine it.”
“This entire wing is in good shape, and the east wing’s coming along as well. The water damage wasn’t as bad as was first feared.”
“You relieve me. Get to the point, Peter.”
Peter glared at him. “There’s room for guests in this place. Namely your sister.”
“My sister comes equipped with a horse, a foal, and a most inconvenient second cousin,” Gabriel pointed out. “Why should they come here?”
“Because they need looking after, and I . . . I have other things to do.”
“Do you, now? You’ve developed a sudden distaste for my sister’s company?”
“I haven’t paid proper attention to the farm, and you’ve certainly let this place fall to wrack and ruin. I can’t be running over to the manor at the drop of a hat.”
“Afraid she’ll seduce you, old friend? Jane’s a wicked temptress, but I would have thought you’d be strong enough to resist her siren’s wiles.”
“Damn you, Gabriel,” he said fiercely. “Everything’s a joke to you. I have no intention of destroying your sister’s life.”
“Even though I suspect she very much wants you to destroy it? I know, I know, we’ve had this argument countless times. I’m only sorry we chose that moment to barge into the stables. To my innocent eye it looked as if things were about to progress quite nicely.”
“I can’t have her, Gabriel,” Peter said wearily. “That’s the damnable truth of it. I want her, and I can’t have her. I know you can’t imagine such a thing—you’ve never cared about anyone or anything that you couldn’t get with a snap of a finger. But there are rules in society that I won’t ask her to break. I won’t ask her to accept being ostracized by society, and I can’t live without her. You have no idea what that’s like.”
“Haven’t I?” Gabriel murmured, gazing out the open window into the spring morning. “You don’t know me as well as you thought, old friend. Which suggests you don’t know Jane all that well either. She’s a romantic fool, and she adores you. She’d consider the world well lost for love.”
“No.”
Gabriel shrugged. “Very well, then you and I will resist temptation together. But bringing them into the house will hardly make things easier. Why don’t we send some of this excellent staff you’ve acquired over to the manor house? They can make life more comfortable for them, and we won’t have to worry.”
“I thought of that. They won’t go. Sir Richard’s made too many enemies,” Peter said flatly. “The only way to protect them is to bring them here.”
“Protect them from what? I’m not certain it’s any safer here than anyplace else. And how will you like having Jane so close, day and night?”
“I’ll survive. Knowing I can look out for her.”
Gabriel shook his head. “I think we’re asking for trouble, my friend.”
“I want them safe,” Peter said stubbornly.
Gabriel considered it for a long, careful moment. Bringing Jane into his house was an excellent way to ensure she’d find her way into Peter’s bed, and if that happened, honor assured that Peter would marry her and the problems would be resolved. Jane would be deliriously happy at Peter’s home farm, raising children and horses, if only Peter’s conscience could be assuaged.
Lizzie was a different matter, but he was a philosophical man. With luck she’d simply decide to head back to Dorset, and he could forget about her. Couldn’t he? Quite easily, he supposed.
“So be it,” he said in a careless voice. He turned back to the window, his eyes on his lonely tower, feeling his safe, solitary life spiral out of control.
Chapter Twenty
“I’M NOT GOING anywhere,” Lizzie said flatly. “Certainly not into his den of iniquity. I think it would be much better if I simply returned to Dorset.”
“A most excellent idea,” Gabriel said promptly, looking extremely bored. “I’ll make arrangements. Perhaps Jane could accompany you and then continue on to London. It’s been years since you’ve left Yorkshire, Jane, and it would do you a world of good.”
“No,” Jane said. “I’m not leaving here, and neither is Lizzie.”
“I could have Peter accompany you.” He tossed it off casually, a subtle bribe, but it didn’t work. The two women sat in the chilly front parlor of Hernewood Manor, looking at him as if he were the Antichrist, and neither of them seemed the slightest bit inclined to do his bidding.
“Peter would have something to say about that, I’m sure,” Jane replied, unmoved. “I doubt he would want to leave his farm, and he has as little use for London as I do. And I’m not leaving Penelope and her new filly, so you needn’t bother arguing.”
“All right,” he said, never expecting to triumph in this particular battle. “We’ll bring the horses over to Rosecliff. The stables are in good condition, and the farm’s nearer by, so Peter can keep a watch on them.”
Jane was wavering, thank heavens. “I still don’t see why we can’t stay here.”
He wasn’t about to tell her just how dangerous it was, cheek by jowl with the Chiltons’ lively doings. She had enough to worry about.
“This place is far too remote for two young women to be staying here without any staff or any sort of protection.”
“You could move in here,” Jane suggested.
“No!” Lizzie and Gabriel protested in unison.
Gabriel sighed. “Then I’ll have to insist you come to Rosecliff until Durham returns. Last night was an example of what could happen. Lizzie went haring off, in a panic because she couldn’t find you, and we’re only lucky she didn’t run into any worse trouble than she did.”
Jane turned an inquisitive look at Lizzie. “You didn’t tell me you ran into trouble. What happened?”
Lizzie glared at him, a faint flush staining her cheekbones. “Absolutely nothing. I went to the Chiltons in search of your brother, found him, and brought him back.”
“You went to Arundel? In the middle of the night? Lizzie, you must be mad!”
“I was worried about you.” Her voice was defensive.
“And therein lies the problem. With no servants, no one to rely on but each other, the situation is dangerous indeed. The obvious answer is for you to come to Rosecliff and Lizzie to return home to the bosom of her loving family.” He kept his face averted. He had no idea what his condescending dismissal of her might do, but he wasn’t willing to take any chances. She had already heard him refer to her as a plain little nobody, and she’d believed him quite handily. She should take this latest act in stride.
“I fail to see why we should come to your tumbledown h
ouse while you stay in the woods,” Jane said stubbornly. “How would that improve our situation?”
“I’ve moved into the house. And it’s not tumbledown. It may need a bit of repair, but it’s far more comfortable than this miserable place.”
“I’m not going anywhere without Lizzie,” Jane said stubbornly. Gabriel was just about to tear his hair with frustration when she turned to her cousin. “Please come with me, Lizzie. I don’t think I could bear it if you weren’t there. I need you.”
They were magic words, Gabriel realized. Lizzie’s stubborn, delicious mouth softened, and her gorgeous green eyes grew troubled. “But Jane . . .”
“I need you,” she said again, his wicked sister sealing the trap. Gabriel knew a moment’s fraternal pride. Docile Jane was more capable of getting her own way than he would have thought.
“For a day or two,” Lizzie said finally. “Just until we can make arrangements to get me back to Dorset. The mail coach comes through tomorrow, and . . .”
“That’s the first of May. People take that holiday seriously around here—I doubt the coach will be running,” Gabriel said, inwardly cursing the timing. “I’ll send you back in one of my carriages.”
She looked at him in astonishment. “You have carriages?”
“And horses to pull them,” he said irritably. “What did you think?”
“I thought you were the Dark Man,” she said flatly.
He was silenced only for a moment. “And so I am. But there are horses and at least one carriage capable of taking you back to Dorset whenever you’re ready to go.” He was sounding almost too eager, a mistake, and he knew it. He wanted her gone, quite desperately. Out of harm’s way. Out of his reach.
And Lizzie knew it. She smiled with deceptive sweetness. “I’m certain I’ll be more than happy at Rosecliff,” she said. “There’s no hurry in getting me back to Dorset.”
“Bless you, Lizzie,” Jane said with a bright smile.
